


ne m’oublie jamais

by ALostHeart, icebluecyanide



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, France (Country), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season 5 AU, Sibling Incest, post 4x13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 15:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16088603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALostHeart/pseuds/ALostHeart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icebluecyanide/pseuds/icebluecyanide
Summary: When a strange man turns up at Elijah's bar to watch him play, Elijah cannot help but be inexplicably drawn to him.





	ne m’oublie jamais

**Author's Note:**

> While this largely ignores canon, the Hollow’s plotline will be explained later. Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a man standing at the bar, watching him play.

 

The hairs on the back of Elijah’s neck stand on end halfway through his third song of the night. As if a shift happened in the air without anyone noticing. He takes a deep breath, only half focused on his piano now, attempting to understand the strange feeling that seems to have taken over him. He takes another breath, frowning now, as an urge to look towards the bar overcomes him. It is not the air that shifted, no. What Elijah feels is the unmistakable sense of someone’s gaze boring into him.

When he looks up, there’s a man standing at the bar, watching him play.

It’s hardly a strange phenomenon. Elijah is usually the cause for some attention, what with him providing live music to the place. Still, there’s something about this man that is altogether new and at the same time feels so familiar. Elijah can’t help but feel like he knows the man, even though he’s sure he’s never met him before.

The man looks like he can’t be much older than in his late twenties and he wears a dark jacket over a dark-red dress shirt. His hair is a dark blonde, just long enough to curl. Elijah can’t see the colour from here, but he has the odd notion that if he were to come closer he’d find the man’s eyes to be blue like the Mediterranean sea.

It’s ridiculous, of course. He has never seen this man before in his life.

He’s still at the piano, his fingers continuing to find the keys even as his mind wanders. The man watches him from near the counter, silently. There are other people in the bar, but Elijah doesn’t spare them even a moment’s thought.

He remembers songs, suddenly, melodies that he’s never heard before but that seem to drift into his mind and remind him of this person. He plays them on the piano like he’s practiced them a thousand times, and the man at the bar never takes his eyes off of him.

He feels alive. Completely, viciously alive under the heavy scrutiny of this familiar stranger.

The man’s face seems to stir something in Elijah’s memory, like he’s seen him in a dream that has already half-faded from his mind but he—

Elijah slips, his finger missing the right key, and he curses silently, looking at his fingers to correct his mistake. It is rare for Elijah to hit the wrong note. Playing seems to come so naturally to him that he can play with his eyes closed and his mind elsewhere. Or he thought he could, in any case.

When he looks up again, the man is gone.

It shouldn’t matter, let alone matter so much, but for a moment when Elijah notices the empty space at the bar, it feels as though someone punched the air from his lungs.

 

 

 

Later that night as he tries to sleep, his slumber is troubled. Multiple times he wakes up to his heart pounding in his head and a feeling like nausea in his stomach.

It’s unusual, as before Elijah has never had all that much trouble sleeping. But tonight he dreams, or he imagines he must, although when he wakes up he could not say what about. All he remembers from his dreams are vague and fleeting images, that linger only long enough to leave him more unsettled than before.

He thinks, although he could not say for certain, that strangely the man from the bar may have featured in them as well.

 

 

 

The next night he keeps an eye out for new people in the bar, wondering if the man might come back. But he doesn’t show, and Elijah almost starts to think he might have imagined him. The whole affair had felt like a dream, the tingling weight of those eyes on him and melodies flowing from his fingers that he didn’t remember ever learning to play.

After his playing is done for the evening he decides to ask Jean about it. As the bartender on most nights, Jean would surely have noticed the man coming in the other day.

“Was there a man here, yesterday?”

“There are many men here,” Jean replies, waving a hand at some of the regular patrons.

“Not a local,” Elijah says. He would remember if he’d seen this man around before, he’s sure of it.

“Ah,” Jean says, drawing out the sound as understanding seems to dawn on his face.

Elijah’s heart beats faster. “You saw him?”

“Dark-blonde hair?” Jean asks. “Slightly curly?

“And sky-blue eyes,” Elijah confirms.

Jean laughs. “Sky-blue eyes?” he repeats in a teasing tone. “Have a crush, Elijah?”

He resists rolling his eyes. “So you saw him then?”

“Yeah, he was here alright. Didn’t say much, just ordered a single drink.”

“Did you see when he left?”

“Just before midnight, I’d say,” Jean says. He moves the cloth across the bar, wiping it down. “One minute he was here and the next he was gone.”

Just like Elijah had thought. “I don’t suppose you know where he’s staying?”

Jean shakes his head. “Sorry, he didn’t really seem like he wanted to talk, so I didn’t bother him. Do you know him?”

“No,” Elijah says, although it feels like a lie. “But he was watching me play all evening.”

“Maybe he liked what he saw,” Jean teases.

Elijah almost scoffs, then pauses. Could it be that Jean is right? Perhaps the man’s intense staring was just the result of some infatuation, unlikely as that may seem.

“Would you like me to pass him a message if he shows up again?” Jean asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Elijah hesitates. He’s not sure what he would even say if he were to speak to the man. He is a total stranger to Elijah, even if he had come to watch Elijah play the piano once. All the same, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the man with his sky-blue eyes.

“No,” he finally decides. “Thank you, but it’s unlikely he’ll even be back in any case. It’s rare for people from out of town to stay around for very long.”

“True enough,” Jean says, dropping the teasing to wipe the bar one last time.

Elijah pulls up a chair.

“Want a drink?” Jean asks, already bringing forth a tumbler from behind the bar.

“Your best scotch, please,” Elijah says.

“Coming right up,” Jean tells him, turning around to grab the bottle he seems to reserve for Elijah.

“Huh,” he suddenly says, making Elijah look up.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I didn’t notice until you ordered a drink just now,” Jean says, glancing back with a thoughtful look on his face. “But that man, his accent kind of reminded me of yours, Elijah.”

 

 

 

He doesn’t see the man the following evening, or the evening after that. Elijah finds himself slightly disappointed, but he has other things that concern him.

He’s been having these strange dreams lately. He can never quite remember what they were about, but they leave lingering impressions, mostly odd feelings or sensations. Sometimes he imagines that he sees the man from the bar in his dreams. He turns around, and his eyes are blue like the sky when they meet Elijah’s. The man’s mouth opens as if to speak, as if he is about to say Elijah’s name, and then—

He lies in bed for long minutes after he wakes, overcome by a sudden emptiness in his chest, a feeling of loss that he can’t explain.

 

 

 

It’s the fourth night after he first spotted him when Elijah sees the man again.

He’s all but given up hope of running into his mysterious admirer by now, just focuses on playing whatever comes into his head, rarely looking up from his fingers. There’s some scattered applause after he finishes, but Elijah doesn’t pay them much attention as he makes his way to the bar to get himself a drink.

“You play well,” a voice says.

It makes him pause in his step, his heart racing. Elijah knows, somehow, despite having never heard him talk, that behind him he will find the same man who had captivated him so much for the past week. He swallows, then turns around to see dark-blond hair and sky-blue eyes.

“Thank you,” Elijah says, mustering a smile and facing the man fully.

He has a guarded look in his eyes. That’s what stands out the most to Elijah as he finally comes face to face with him. Up close, everything else about the man looks exactly as he had imagined, right from the curve of his lips to the small mole on the side of his neck.

But the wariness in the man’s eyes throws him off.

“I haven’t seen you around these parts before,” Elijah comments, when it seems the man isn’t about to speak. “Are you from out of town?”

The man shakes his head slightly, as if dislodging a thought, then his eyes focus again. “I am,” he says, his voice a pleasant timbre.

“Here on holiday, I suppose?” It’s rare to see people come by for any other reason.

“Just passing through,” the man says smoothly.

Standing so close, the feeling of familiarity is stronger than ever. The sense that Elijah knows him, somehow. Has always known him. He feels as though he is expecting this stranger’s every movement a fraction of a second before he makes them, from the slight rising of his shoulders to the easy wave of his hand as the man dances through the rituals of small talk with him. The man’s eyes never seem to leave his and Elijah feels himself shifting in response to some invisible cue.

“Are you a local then?” the man asks.

“As good as one,” Elijah says with an easy smile.

His answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the man. “But you’re not from here?” he presses.

Elijah frowns, glancing at him, then back at the piano. He hasn’t really thought of it like that. “No,” he says slowly. “I suppose not.”

The man clenches his jaw for a moment at that, opening his mouth as if he intends to say something, before seemingly changing his mind.

Elijah shakes his head slightly. He feels a little woozy, a slight headache starting at his temples. It’s probably still from waking up in the middle of the night.

“I’m called Elijah,” he tells the man, focusing back on the conversation. “I play here on most evenings.”

“Klaus,” he man says after a long pause. “My name is Klaus.”

Elijah smiles at him politely. Despite the man’s sometimes distant manner, he finds himself wanting to talk to Klaus, to find out more about this person whose appearance the other night had inspired him to reach new heights. He wants to know what’s behind that shallow smile Klaus sends his way.

“Allow me to buy you a drink,” he says spontaneously.

Klaus hesitates, then nods.

“Jean,” Elijah calls over to the other side of the bar. “Bourbon for my friend here, and a scotch for me, please.”

Jean waves at him to show that he’s heard and will get to them soon.

“Bourbon,” Klaus repeats in an odd voice.

Elijah looks back at him. “You prefer something else?”

“No,” Klaus says, eyeing him carefully. “I’m quite partial to bourbon, I’m merely surprised you knew my favourite drink.”

Elijah shrugs, a little uncomfortable with the close scrutiny. “You seem like a bourbon man. A lucky guess.”

Klaus is still watching him as Jean serves them their drinks with a suggestive wink at Elijah. They thank him, then settle on two of the stools at the bar.

“Santé,” Elijah says, raising his glass to Klaus.

“Santé,” Klaus murmurs, copying him. He’s still observing Elijah over the rim of his glass as he takes his first sip.

Elijah takes a sip of his own glass, watching the bobbing of Klaus’s throat as he swallows. “So what brings you to Manosque? If I may ask?”

“Family,” Klaus tells him. “Doesn’t it always come down to family?” He smiles before taking another sip, but his smile is a bitter thing, rich in irony. Whatever he came to do here in this town that involves his family, he doesn’t seem too happy about it.

“I suppose so,” Elijah says. “Family is important.”

“Yes,” Klaus says abruptly. “It is.”

His sudden change of tone makes Elijah pause, but he doesn’t see what Klaus might have taken offense to in his words. They drink together for a moment in silence, tenser than before. Elijah casts his eyes down at the bar as he sips his scotch, savouring the burn in his throat, trying to think of what to say.

Finally, Klaus clears his throat, making Elijah look back at him.

“I rather liked your playing earlier,” Klaus says. “Mack The Knife, was it?”

“Kurt Weill, yes,” Elijah replies, grateful for the change in subject. “And thank you. I’ve actually had the song stuck in my head all day, it was good to finally be able to let it out.”

Klaus hums. “And you play here every day?”

“Four or five times a week,” Elijah corrects. “On the other nights Jean often puts on the radio, but live music is usually a good way to draw in new people.”

“I can imagine,” Klaus says. “Although most of this isn’t really my sort of music.”

“No?” Elijah asks, curious. “What’s more to your tastes?”

“I always rather liked Mahler.”

“Mahler?” Elijah asks, slightly incredulously. It’s not that the choice doesn’t fit with the mental image he has somehow already formed of Klaus, because it does, but it’s hardly the type of music commonly played in bars. “That’s all but guaranteed to clear a room.”

“Their loss,” Klaus says casually, a smile tugging at his lips as he sips his drink.

Elijah smiles wryly. “I doubt Jean would appreciate it if I chased away all his customers.”

”You could always choose to show off your talents elsewhere where it will be more appreciated,” Klaus tells him. “With your talent...”

“I am rather fond of this place,” Elijah says, amused despite Klaus’s implications.

“So you’re happy here?” 

Elijah pauses. There’s something about the way Klaus asks the question, about how his eyes are fixed unwaveringly on Elijah’s, that stops him from giving a flippant response.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Elijah says slowly. “Manosque is a beautiful place, and I can play here whenever I want. What would I have to be unhappy about?”

“What indeed,” Klaus murmurs, his tone almost mocking, and Elijah frowns. He doesn’t know what to make of the other man’s mood swings, of the way he will smile one moment and seem distant the next.

Perhaps it’s this business with his family that has Klaus behaving like this. Elijah longs to ask what might be the matter, longs to know more about this man who makes Elijah feel like he should know him, like he _does_ know him, even when they have never met before. He stops himself before the question can leave his mouth, however. Klaus’s family is none of his business.

“Will you be in town for much longer?” Elijah asks instead, wondering if there might be another opportunity for them to meet up.

“No,” Klaus says slowly. “I can’t stay for long, unless...” He trails off, then shrugs, an awkward, tense motion.

“Unless...?” Elijah prompts carefully.

Klaus shakes his head once, briefly, tries for a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he says smoothly. “I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

“Oh,” Elijah says, disappointment settling in his chest.

After a moment, Klaus’s smile falls away. He looks at Elijah, just stares at him. It reminds Elijah of that evening when he’d first noticed Klaus watching him, how he’d stood here at the bar without saying a word, without averting his eyes. The other night, Klaus’s eyes on him had invigorated him, inspired him, but there’s something unsettling about feeling that same intense regard from so close by.

This close, he’s not entirely sure it’s really _him_ that Klaus is seeing.

Oh sure, the man’s eyes never leave Elijah, but there’s something distant about his gaze all the same. Some emotion that Elijah can’t explain or justify given their brief acquaintance.

In the end it’s Elijah who breaks eye contact. His abrupt motion seems to startle Klaus, who looks back down at his drink. Elijah follows his gaze, noting the other man’s fingers tracing patterns on the bar.

Neither of them speak, and Klaus picks up his bourbon again. He throws back the drink, finishing it off in one go. He’s getting ready to leave, Elijah realises, and something inside him protests at that very notion. If Klaus leaves now, Elijah may never see him again.

“Well,” he says, and Klaus’s eyes fly back to him. “It was very nice meeting you, in any case.”

Klaus smiles again, but there’s something that rings false about it. “Yes,” he says quietly, then sets the empty tumbler on the bar with a soft _click._

Elijah watches as his eyes flicker from the glass, down the bar, before coming up to meet his eyes again.

“I must go,” Klaus says, hint of an apology in his voice.

Elijah nods, ignoring the part of him that’s screaming not to let Klaus walk away.

Sliding off his bar stool, Klaus pauses, and for one wild moment Elijah thinks he might say something. Might decide to stay after all, and they could get another drink, talk of Mahler and music and perhaps Elijah could even play for him again as he had that other night, feeling so wonderfully alive—

Klaus closes his mouth, nods shortly, then leaves without another word.

Elijah watches the door fall closed behind him, watches for a long time, even after Klaus’s footsteps have faded away and he’s left with nothing but his heart pounding in his head and disappointment in his chest.

 

 

 

That night, he has a dream unlike any he has ever had before.

He can’t remember what it’s about, but he must have dreamed, because he wakes up to find his cheeks wet with tears and a deep ache in his chest. It’s strange. Elijah rarely cries, and he ends up touching his face in confusion, his throat still oddly tight.

It must have been a terrible nightmare, for him to wake up like this.

For a brief moment, before he’s truly woken up, he wonders if perhaps he has it the wrong way around. That perhaps the dream was pleasant and it was the awakening that had hurt. How else would he explain the profound sense of loss that the waking world brings him?

It’s an odd thought, and he couldn’t say where it came from.

 


End file.
